Rock, Priscilla, Strange Fic
by Wii Master
Summary: Lyndis' Legion, Eliwood's Army, and Hector's Rabble make their way through plot holes, the Day of Lemons, and other terrifying occurences in Fan Fiction. Putting the "dumb" in fandom while keeping the intelligence moderately high. Chapter 3 is up!
1. Priscilla's True Love

All right ladies, gentlemen, and those of you in-betweens. Greetings, and welcome to Rock, Priscilla, Strange Fic, a shining example of how NOT to write Fire Emblem fanfiction. Within this story you will find rock-solid romance, terrifying villians, and many, many shatterings of the fourth wall. If you think that's not your bag, then you're wrong. It most certainly is.

A couple of notes before we kick this puppy off, and I mean that in the least offenisve way you can remove a puppy from a high place with your foot.

First: FFnet has this love of destroying my section breaks. I've recently replaced them with ones that will hopefully survive future punctuation genocides, but no promises. If, at some future point, you cannot find the page breaks (There will be one directly before and after the disclaimer), please let me know via email or private message. I'll fix it up for you.

Second: My periods of productivity alternate between very high, a chapter per night, to very low, a chapter per 14 months. If you have any interest in reading the next chapter (and you do, trust me), put this creature on story alert. You'll be glad you did.

. . . . .

**Disclaimer: **I make no claim of ownership on anything. Not even sanity.

. . . . .

Priscilla looked at her One True Love. She knew it was True Love because it was capitalized. He was so... so... Did it matter what he was? He was better than that vile creature, the one they call _Erk._ He was much stronger too. He rubbed her hand against his rock-hard abs. A little on the silent side. But he was so much better than _Erk_. She sighed and cuddled up against his body, warmed by the sun. Priscilla had decided that after the incident, she would always refer to him in scathing tones, and think his name in italics.

. . . . .

Erk walked along the path. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to ignore the person behind him. Even though he was polite to everyone else in the army, he just couldn't stand to be polite to her. Especially because she was his employer. It only made sense for the cultured mage to swear at her, and only her. That darned _Serra_. He sighed and listened to the things Mark had given them. They were cups with pads on the edges that sat over his ears. A black band of some kind of strangely resilient matieral connected them by running across the top of his head and through his strangely colored hair. What were they called? Oh, yeah, "Noise Cancelling Headphones." They gave off an odd sound; it sounded like hard to understand poetry with extremely disgusting lyrics. It was also to a beat which his head bobbed on its own free will to. He shrugged, it was better than _Serra_. Erk had decided that after the incident, he would always refer to her in scathing tones, and think her name in italics.

. . . . .

A rather short girl stood happily beneath a tree, grinning from ear to cliched ear. Lyn, her unnaturally long green ponytail swinging behind her, walked up to her friend.

"Florina? Why are you so happy?" she asked.

"Well Lyn," Florina replied, "I've dicovered that even though I would freeze in my embarressingly short skirt, my horse is way too small to carry my gear and me, much less another passenger, and even though my armor hardly covers anything, it covers enough that if I were to be shot, my sex life would be okay!"

"That's great Florina! You know, you're so lucky. I don't get to wear any armor, I get clothes that reveal way too much of my legs, and I have to walk. I wish I could be you." Florina looked at her.

"Well, you're not the only one you know. Just look at Ninain, Louise, Isadora, Rebecca, Nino, Karla, Leila, and Vaida. Even the bad guys, er, girls don't get armor. Limestela, Ursula, and Sonia. Not a piece of working armor on any of them. Not to mention Serra, Priscilla and the countless generic clerics who can't even fight back! Serra wears a white dress that stays white no matter where she goes, and Priscilla who wears a skirt. It must be made of the same material as Serra's dress; it never gets dirty either. My clothes are the same too. And don't forget my sisters!"

"You know, I think the graphic artist dressed all the girls up like that so the girl-starved fanboys would actually train and pay attention to them." Lyn winced as the word "boy" left her mouth. Florina darted under a tree and started whimpering uncontrollably like a beaten puppy.

"B-b-b-boys?" she squeaked. "W-Wh-Wh-W-Where?" Lyn rolled her eyes.

_"Great, now she's gone all Porky Pig on me,"_ Lyn thought, even though she had no idea who or what a Porky Pig was. She had heard Mark say it. Come to think of it, she wondered what a graphic artist was as well.

. . . . .

At the mention of his name, the view shifted to Mark's face. His brows were furrowed in deep concentration. Finally, he picked up a thin piece of charcoal from his desk and pressed it lightly on the sheet of parchment. He had finally completed his epic masterpiece. The air seemed to fly out of the room as all the girls except Florina, Lyn and Priscilla held their breath as he prepared to read it aloud.

"I walk down the street, and I say fo' shizzle,

I am happy, cause my name ain't Izzle."

"Oh Mark!" they all cried in high fan-girly tones, "We love you, and your poorly scripted poems!"

"Yeah, and your big, shapeless green cloak is so atrractive to us!" They continued. Mark smiled, showing off perfect teeth. It was good being God.

"Hey, my name is close to Izzle." said Isadora, yet another poorly designed monted unit. But nobody cared about the waste of an angelic robe and left her in the corner to cry.

. . . . .

"Hey Eliwood."

"Yes, Hector?"

"You wanna make-out?"

"No."

"Good. Neither do I."

. . . . .

Priscilla hugged her True Love. She almost wished Erk would walk by and see how happy they were. She cuddled up closer, enjoying his sturdiness. She kissed him and-

"AH!"

"What was that?" she cried, looking around wildly.

Suddenly, Canas dropped from the sky and landed with a thud next to her.

"Sorry my lady, I had just found a plot-hole and decided to jump into it. Mark says one day I'm not going to come back, and they'll blame it on a storm. I however don't believe him, and I don't know who "they" are. Um, may I ask why you are kissing a rock?" Priscilla's eyes narrowed.

"Because of _Erk_." she hissed. Canas stood up and began to back slowly away.

"I can see you don't like him. Most people don't say other people's names in italics," he smiled, all previous fear fogotten now that he was a safe twenty-five feet away. "Anyways, here's some advice from Mark: Don't let the man get you down! Who the man is, I can't say, but I intend to find out!

. . . . .

Jaffar stared at Rath.

Rath stared back.

Wil stared at both of them.

Matthew rolled his eyes.

The writer wrote in simple sentences.

"Psst, Wil, when are we going to leave?" Wil turned to Matthew.

"Shhhhh, they're bonding!"

"No they're not! They can't even talk!"

Wil beamed.

"Yes they are! Look! Jaffar just twitched his thumb, and Rath just said the quiet line!"

"This is stupid, I'm going to go steal something from Guy."

. . . . .

"Hey Florina!" Canas called. "Don't let the man get you down!" Florina's eyes widened in fear.

"The Man? AHHHHHHHH!HHHHHHHH!" Florina took off running. She stopped after only hitting three tress and two tents.

"Dammit Canas. Why did you have to bring up men? You know she's only 16. How can you expect her to be able to talk to the opposite sex?"

"I don't think you're allowed to say that word Lyn. This game is rated "E," Canas said. "But if you're mad, you should stab Mark, not me. He's the one who told me the saying." Lyn ignored the rated "E" comment.

"You'r right," Lyn admitted. "But Mark's big, green cloak and lack of backstory makes him really, really sexy. And you? You're... not."

"Oh, darn. Do you think I could remove my completlely useless monocale before you give me a black eye?" Lyn looked at him criticly.

"I suppose so. I'm in a rather good mood today."

. . . . .

Florina: Bi-Di,Bi-Di, Bi-Di, That's all folks!

. . . . .

I hoped you liked it. I based pretty much all the content off of "Ways to Screw Up a Fanfic" in the Fire Emblem Writer's Guild. Credit goes to Psychoswordlady for the plot involving Priscilla and her "One True Love." I guess this fic is kinda dedicated to her because her challenge post gave me an idea on how to start this whole thing. Thanks!

~Wii Master


	2. Too Many Lemons

Apologies. Many apologies. A year is way to long to wait to for an update. Oh, you weren't waiting? You just clicked it because it was new? Ah well. Expected that. Before the chapter officially starts, I would like to remind everyone that it is still rated T. So when something pops up that would make you back out, just remember the rating. It really isn't that bad.

. . . . .

Hey everybody. What's going on? The wife and kids good? Oh, cool. Nice job on that promotion dude. By the way, for the duration of this chapter, please do not look away from the screen. Whatever you do, _especially_ don't look behind you. I promise you that elite ninjas won't chop your head off. Also, when scrolling, please use the... **OH MY GOD!** **ELITE _NINJAS_! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!**

Hehe, just kidding. There's some of that intelligent humor I promised you. In all (semi) seriousness, I'll try to be coherent, and inject something new into this story - a plot.

Karel the Editing Swordmaster: Hey, you'd better put my namesake in this fic, and he had better not be stupid.

Wii Master: Of course I will. He will however be portrayed as the overly bloodthirsty sadist that cares only about killing something. As always with these parodies. Or is it parodys?

Serra the Plot-Hole Healer: I'm going to run out of planks for this one, aren't I? And do I get to kiss Erk?

Wii Master: Considering I'm making fun of all types of pairings this chapter... No.

Serra: Damn.

Canas: Hey, watch the language guys, it is supposed to be rated "E."

Lyn: Canas, shut the hell up. I'm sick of you and your "Oh, let's keep it clean for the little people" attitude.

Karel: Is this the part where Canas gets dragged off and gets the crap kicked out of him by an over-aggressive plainswomen?

Serra: A-yup.

WM: "A-yup?" What kind of answer is that?

Serra: Hillbilly. Like Utensil. Hillbilly for "Can't drink yet?" As in, "What's the matter boy? Utensil?"

Karel: On to the never read disclaimer before Serra offends someone with her terrible culture blunders.

Wii Master: Oh, before we start, let it be said: I never lie.

Serra: You realize we just violated a fanfic "Don't". _Don't have really long discussions with your muses at the beginning of fics._

Wii Master: Oops.

**Disclaimer**: Surprise! I really do own Fire Emblem, all related characters, plot lines, and plush toy line! How's that for a paradigm shift?

Okay... that was a lie. There is no plush toy line.

. . . . .

Mark cried bitter tears. They fell silently to the floor leaving burning trails of sadness on his otherwise unblemished face. The brilliant tactician made no move to wipe them away. There was no reason to anyway. New ones would replace the old. His swelling tide of emotions was broken by a lone voice.

"Mark, is something wrong?" He could not see who spoke through the watery curtain that separated him from the world. He shook his angrily, trying to clear away the tears.

"No. I'm... I'm fine." He turned away. The voice spoke again.

"Mark, you never cry. What's the matter?" Rebecca. That's who it was. The green haired archer.

"It's just..." he sighed heavily. "It's just so hard... sometimes..." Mark felt a cool hand on his cheek. He looked up into her dazzling green eyes. Her reassuring smile encouraged him to go on. "It's just so hard... so hard to be perfect all the time! You can't imagine the pressure!" His confession was broken by a collective sob from the Official Mark Fan Girls Club in the back of the room.

"It's okay Mark. We love you anyways." He smiled. As long as he had a fan club, Mark knew everything would turn out all right. He waved the girls out. There was work to be done.

. . . . .

Lowen awoke with a start. He looked around, but all he saw was darkness. As usual.

"Where am I?" his quavering voice floated into the unknown depths of the room.

"Ah, so we have another visitor," said a voice.

"Oh good, I was getting so bored. Maybe he can find the remote," came another.

"Shut up, if he's here, he must be blind. This IS the blind room after all." A light popped on, emitting a light. Lowen however, couldn't see the above-mentioned light. Lowen never could see any kind of light. (Which, dear reader, is why the feared Aquamarine Mop misses so often.) Lowen, still blind, chose to sit down in the chair next to him. Being unable to see it, he ended up on the floor.

Poor Lowen.

. . . . .

Mark's tent flap burst open, and a blur of a figure came rushing in.

"OH MY GOD MARK! IT'S HORRIBLE!" Mark winced. Hector certainly did have a loud voice.

"What is the matter my good blue-haired ox friend?"

"EVERYONE IN THE CAMP... IT'S HORRIBLE! HORRIBLE I SAY! HORRIBLE!" Mark winced even more. Talking in Caps Lock grated on the nerves.

"Hector. Please use your left-hand little finger and press they key marked 'Caps Lock.' When you have done so, I will resume talking to you." Hector was confused.

"WHY IN THE WORLD WOuld i want to do that/ now i have to use shift," the large axefighter said.

"It's not that hard to use the shift key, Hector." Hector became confused again.

"What's a shift key?" Mark sighed.

"Never mind that. What is the problem?"

"Oh, well you see - everyone in the camp is having a lemon." Mark's eyes widened in shock.

"Wha- What? All at once?" he asked in disbelief. Hector nodded. Mark motioned for him to go on.

"Yeah, it's horrible. Kent and Sain, Guy and Matthew, Wil and Rath, Heath and Legault, Raven and Lucius, Pent and Erk, Oswin and Marcus, Dorcas and Bartre, Geitz and Dart, Karel and Jaffar, Wallace and Harken - even Renault and Hawkeye are having one. And they didn't even invite me!" he finished indignantly. Mark's expression wasn't one normally found on a human's face. It was somewhere between morbid curiosity and utter repulsion.

"I hate to ask it, but where's our merchant?" Hector shook his head.

"Where do you think Eliwood went?" Mark gagged in response to this.

"It's worse than 1984," he muttered to himself. Suddenly, he had a thought. "What about the Official Mark Fan Girl Club?" Hector shrugged.

"Them too. Lyn and Florina, Fiora and Farina, Nino and Rebecca, Louise and Ninian, Karla and Isadora - even Priscilla took time off from her boyfriend to have one with Serra."

Mark's voice shook. "How, um, unfortunate."

Hector nodded. "So, what do you want me to do about it?" he asked.

Hector shrugged. "Nothing, I'm just letting you know you're missing out. Sain offered to have a lemon with me. You see, some of the bad guys are coming over here as well, and Nergal's going to have one with Kent. You could probably have one with Ephidel, unless Pascal gets there first. Bye now." Hector exited the tent.

. . . . .

Mark exited his tent with more than a little apprehension. If what Hector had said was true... Well, it would not be pleasant. He had to see though. The dark green canvas slid aside to reveal perfect blue skies, fluffy white clouds, blowing green grass, and lemons. Oh, so many lemons. Those little yellow fruits were everywhere. Mark choked back the urge to spill his breakfast and searched for the source of this horror. His eyes roamed over the members of the army, each sitting across from their partner and eating those disgusting morsels. And poor Eliwood! Merlinus loved to salt everything he ever ate! Mark _hated_ sour foods with a burning passion. His gaze finally came to rest on the stack of crates piled high in the center of the camp. The demon fruits overflowed from their wooden containers and spilled all over the ground. Mark approached the mountain of evil...

. . . . .

"I just don't get it." The red haired knight scratched his head.

"What's the matter Kent?" asked Fiora, a concerned look on her face. Kent shook his head in bewilderment.

"Well, you see... Everyone here has perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfect outfits, and when it applies, perfect make-up." Fiora laughed.

"That's not so weird. I was talking to Mark and he told me about this place called..." she trailed off, trying to remember the name. "Well, it had holly in it. I think it was a forest too... Anyway, that kind of thing happens a lot there." Kent was still shaking his head.

"Aside from that, everyone here speaks English, and no matter how man Princesses of Etruia are named July, there is nothing named England." Fiora's eyebrows shot up in concern.

"What are you trying to say, Kent?"

"Nothing... but think about it. How many people have you seen in your travels that aren't white?"

"Aren't white? What do you mean? Everyone is white, right?" Now it was Kent's turn to look at her in concern.

"No... They're not." Fiora looked at him like he had just grown three tentacles and moustache.

"You're lying," she said in an accusing voice, as if she was in some sort of soap opera. "That can't be true."

"It is true, Fiora," he said, louder than necessary. He stood up to a compliment of the low section of a full string orchestra.

"Don't say that Kent. Don't say that." Fiora was whispering now. Kent looked down at her.

"You can't hide from the truth Fiora. You can't hide from the truth forever." He pointed his finger at her, and it seemed to grow, and grow, until there was nothing but his finger, blocking out the sun, pointing horribly at her. She screamed.

Then, Fiora woke up, and vowed never to eat so many lemons right before going to sleep again. They messed with her head.

. . . . .

Mark had gathered the army before him, after confiscating all lemons. He looked over them, and after a moment to collect himself, cleared his throat.

"My people, we must cross the Red Sea. The slave drivers are coming and will-" he was cut off by a nudge in the ribs by Lyn. She whispered something in his ear and he turned back to the crowd, a slight blush covering his face.

"Heh, wrong speech. Okay, here it goes." He cleared his throat for the second time. "Members of Eliwood's Army, Lyndis' Legion, and Hector's Rabble, we face a crisis. An unknown enemy has sent us hundreds of lemons." The Official Mark Fan Girls Club broke out in a gasp, despite failing to see why this was a problem. "You may wonder why this is such a problem," Mark continued. Nods of agreement floated through the crowd.

"You see, if we all ate too many lemons, we would have puckered lips! And if we had puckered lips, we would never be able to smile! All happiness would flee from this world, like seagulls before a storm of tourists. We must find this evil mastermind, and stop him!" Cheering broke out among the gathered warriors. They would stop this menace to happiness, and avoid the proverbial storm of tourists - for this was more important than Nergal ressurecting the dragons; this was more important than a rebellion among the Lycian Alliance; this was more important than a militant takeover by Bern. This was, after all, the Doom of the Age, the End of all Happiness, and the Start of the Reign of the Yellow Demon-Fruits. Mark shouted over the roar of the crowd.

"We leave tomorrow to Nabata, to see some old guy in the desert. He'll tell us what to do!" The crowd roared its approval.

. . . . .

One thing still troubled the wyvern rider. Why had no one asked her to have a lemon with them? Even that flirting excuse for a knight Sain should have at least hit on her once! She wondered what the problem was. Was it because she had more testosterone than all of the men in the army combined? Or perhaps it was because she had a reputation for killing an man foolish enough to try to give her a flower? No. Neither of those were it. Still, Vaida could not put her finger on it... just what was wrong with her? Ah well. Time to go eat some raw meat. That always calmed her down.

. . . . .

Well, that wraps up the chapter. I realize I didn't mention what the incident was, but I'll save that for a flashback chapter later on. There were some references to things outside of FE7 in that chapter, but I hope you caught them all. The one about the Princess July was for Meelu-the-Bold. Next chapter they head out for Nabata to go meet the "old-guy." I certainly hope to get update a lot quicker than I did this one, but I'm incredibly lazy. Therefore, if you're interested, just add it to your alerts and read it then. See you later!

Wii Master


	3. Serra's Silence

Well. Wow. It's been a year and half since the last update. That's gotta be some kind of record! But here it is anyway, in honor of my four years as a member of this site. I don't back down, even in the face of incredible laziness. This one's a bit of a doozy, if that word's still in existence, as it clocks in at nearly 4,000 words. That _doubles_ the length of this fic, in just one chapter! And there was much rejoicing, a-yay?

Hm. You're a lively bunch. Well, I hope you enjoy the latest installment of Rock, Priscilla, Strange Fic, chapter 3: Serra's Silence.

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to ownership. Of anything. Not even sanity.

Karel the Editing Sword Master - Wow, man. It's been a while. You've learned how to use commas!

Wii Master - Meh. Shut up. That doesn't mean you're getting paid this week.

. . . . .

It had been nearly four weeks of traveling since the Day of Lemons, the day everything changed. It was surprising how somber the group could become when faced with the prospect of all happiness in the world replaced by the puckered lips of sour expressions. As they rode on, the only sounds heard were plodding hooves and the soft _chuff_ of exhaled horse breath. The company moved in silence, every face in the entire group set with grim determination.

Well, every face but one.

One face was set with an entirely different expression than the others. Her lips trembled, but not with fear. Her eyes were slightly damp, but not from the dry headwind of the edge of the desert. Occasionally, her right cheek would jump up, giving her the appearance of winking at an inhuman speed. Her nose wrinkled, as if smelling something Lowen had let sit too long over the morning fire. All in all, with the trembling cheeks, damp eyes, and nervous twitch, her face looked like a widow who has not only just lost her husband, but her favorite son and her breakfast as well. It was this unpleasant mixture of panic, nausea, and near hysteria that kept all the men away from her. All the men but Sain, of course, but his attention was mostly out of habit, not a particular desire to be in the company of a woman who was very likely about to snap.

For you see, Serra was going mad.

Stark.

Raving.

Mad.

. . . . .

It was all very logical if you saw the chain of events from the beginning. First off, there were the Lemons. As any Daughter of Elimine worth her robes could tell you, lemons were evil. Not only did they possess the previously mentioned happiness-sucking power, they also left stains that were, quite simply, easier to burn out than scrub. Also, if you replaced the "L" at the front of lemon with a "D," it became "Demon." In the prophetic words of that one drunk guy telling priest jokes near the Basilica of St. Elimine: "'Nuff said." Next came the travel. Serra _hated_ traveling. Well, that wasn't strictly true. She actually loved to travel - when someone else carried her things, made the fire, and pitched her tent for her. (There were really many other things her escorts did for her, but those were just the first she could think of.) However, with Mark's nightmares keeping him up at night and thereby making him loopy during the day, no one had been assigned to keep track of Serra's things, which meant that the most beautiful woman in all of Etruia had to deal with her own affairs.

And this wasn't the worst of it. Oh, no. Not a by a long shot.

The worst part was the silence.

The horrible, -notfun-veryboring-antiexciting-makingmecrazy-cantstanditanylonger-howintheworldcanyouhandleit -Silence.

This was a silence to end all silences. At first, she had gone with it. (What a foolish thing to do) After all, lemons had nearly ended all happiness. (Gotta talk) But even after a week had gone by, no one spoke. (Have to say something) When Sain turned his attention to her, she had hope. (Just some kind of noise) But he just lifted his eyebrows and gave her The Look. (Doesn't even have to be big) She just sighed and ignored him. (Maybe a little squeak) The second week had gone on for longer than any week had a right to. (Or maybe a birdie noise) At the end of the third week, Serra had begun to check her hair for gray streaks. (Or how about a song - that would be lovely) The fourth week had gone by even slower than the third. (Yes a lovely song everyone would sing to her) And quite frankly, if Nils didn't pick up his damn flute in the next fifteen seconds, someone was going to die.

Serra grinned expectantly; at least something was going to happen. So she waited. And waited. And waited. And waited a little bit longer. And after exactly four point two zero five minutes had gone by…

Serra snapped.

. . . . .

Florina had not been having the best month. After the Day of Lemons, things had really just gone downhill. Oh, good things had happened to be sure, but overall it was pretty much _blah_. (_Blah_ being a medical term she picked up from Priscilla.) Florina didn't mind the silence as much as other members of the group. Being naturally shy, having all forms of verbal communication cut off didn't change her habits all that much. It had actually helped her… well, she didn't want to think of it that way… but she had a nice **dinner** with Erk the other night. Yes, a **dinner**. Not a date. **A DINNER, dammit**.

This thinking against herself was one of techniques Lyn had taught her somewhere in the middle of the unnaturally long third week to stop her stammering. Both girls had agreed that the Porky Pig act (whatever that was) was getting to be a problem, especially because she wanted to **be friends** with Erk. So far, it had worked out wonderfully. Aside from being able to tell Sain off with out raising a blush, she had been able to talk to Canas about not letting The Man keep her down, and the best part was that the **dinner** with Erk was stammer free. She didn't even have to stammer until her words sounded like a cute telegraph or pretend to be cold so he would pull her in close. She had a nice **dinner** with him, and that was that.

The thing that made the week _blah_ however, was that stupid rock. It wasn't in Florina's nature to think of something as stupid, but that dumb rock was far too heavy for her pegasus to carry. And the whole time, Priscilla had been perched on the back of the overburdened, physics defying, magical horse; her red hair bouncing as she chattered happily away to the stupid rock. After the first week, Mark had mostly gotten over his nightmares and had enough presence of mind to shift the task to Bartre the Brick, but the damage was done. Florina spent the next two and a half weeks walking her pegasus all the way to Nabata, just to rest her tired mount's wings. It was her second day back on Huey, and she relished the feel of the sun on her face, the wind in her hair, and Sain's eyes not glued to her backside.

A little after midday, she wheeled back toward the line of horses and baggage train, ready to get something to eat. As she was about to land, she saw Serra atop a chestnut mare, staring intently at the back of Nils' head. She brought her pegasus to a gentle halt next to the cleric. As she turned, her smile of greeting melted into an "o" of fear. Serra's eyes glinted with an unholy light, and she launched herself toward the Ilian girl. The pegasus tossed its head and fluttered its wings at the sudden addition of another rider, but took off as soon as two boots came down on its flanks. The winged horse was intelligent, but not intelligent enough to realize that its rider was in grave danger.

For not only did Serra have a knife to Florina's throat, she was bored out of her mind.

Heath sat astride his flying lizard and brushed a strand of white hair out of his eyes. Because, you know, his bright green hair didn't stick out nearly enough already. Sometimes, he worried that his hair would never go back to it's original, unassuming color, but then again, the shock of white served as a painful yet needed reminder of the Incident. How could he ever forget that moment? The moment when everything changed? The answer was simple. He couldn't.

. . . . .

"_It's just __**a hug,**__"_ Florina thought to herself as her ambiguously named mount took off. "_Sure, it's a little strange. She's got one hand around my waist and the other around my neck, but it's still close to how my sisters hug me, except without the knife..._" The cold steel at her throat stung a bit, and the way Serra mumbled incomprehensible phrases under her breath was a bit sad. "_But_," Florina thought to herself, "_watching Bartre try to hit something with his ax is equally painful and disappointing, so I really shouldn't judge."_

Makar rose higher and higher through the cloudless desert sky, wings unnecessarily flaring. The army on the road beneath them stretched out like Nils in the middle of a heated battle. Serra squinted her eyes against the dust that would never mar their clothes and pointed at particularly high dune. Florina, not wishing to be **hugged** to death by the hostage taking cleric, directed Huey to the dune.

. . . . .

He'd had plenty of time to think about it over the past month. Flying high above the army as it marched through the lands of Elibe, he'd contemplated what exactly the Incident meant to him, to the army, and meant to the world as a whole. When his hands weren't steadying the reins, they were worrying a small, yellow orb. The orb was the same as the ones that had filled the camp almost a month ago, and it was the same as the other yellow orbs that filled two large sacks oeither side of his mount. He hadn't eaten one yet, but the temptation grew everyday. And one day soon, his resistance would fail. And assuming an enemy mage didn't capitalize on that, Heath would unknowingly set the greatest evil the world had ever seen free.

But he couldn't know that now. So instead, he sat on his lizard.

. . . . .

Hukar landed with a soft thud, stirring only a few particles of sand from the ground. This gentle feat of landing went unnoticed because Florina hit the ground a second later. Serra leapt from the back of Muey and roughly pulled the Ilian to her feet. The knife gleamed in her hand.

"Sing, Florina! Sing me a song!" Florina tried to open her mouth, but all that came out a quiet squeak. You could threaten her with a knife, and she could stay brave. You could toss her into a pit with nothing but men, and she would only stammer like a typewriter's keys. But if you asked her to sing in public, Florina would freeze up. Luckily for the pegasus knight, she was in a desert, so she reverted to just plain old stammering mode, quite possibly saving her life.

"No, Florina! I don't want you to sing me 'Shots.' No one likes LMFAO anyway!"

"I wa-wa-wasn't... I didn't m-m-mean t-to..." Florina forced out. "I c-c-can si-sing you suh-suh some Bill Murray... K-K-K-Katy-" Serra threw the knife down at Florina's boot, cutting her off and forcing her to jump backwards.

"That's it," Serra said, advancing slowly on the smaller girl. "I can't take it anymore!" She cackled madly, and Florina inched backwards. "If I no one will talk to me, I'll just end it all!" Florina felt the sand beneath her left foot give way right as Serra threw all 118 pounds into her midsection. They both tumbled down the impossibly tall sand dune, the unendurable silence finally broken by Florina's drawn out scream. Serra alternated between laughing and crying as the hot desert air rushed around them. _Finally. Finally. Noise! I can die a happy best-most-generous/gorgeous-cleric._ They fell for what seemed like forever, until something hard and tan at the bottom of the dune caught them, almost gently. The screaming, the crying, and the laughing stopped. Serra cracked her eyes open, fighting off the dimming of her vision for just a bit longer.

Flashes of light and fire played off the surfaces of the surrounding dunes.

"_A fireworks show, just for me."_ Darkness overtook her.

. . . . .

Humakarey's riderless silhouette drew Heath to the dune just as much as the scream. Florina screaming wasn't all that uncommon, when he thought about it. Enemies, men in general, Sain specifically, all presented the jumpy girl with an excuse to scream. But her mount unattended, pawing nervously at the edge of a large sand dune set off alarm bells. He circled closer and beheld the two crumpled forms of his comrades. Their immaculate white clothing untouched by the sand, they seemed to almost float in the intermittent flashes of light. After ensuring that Makueyhar wouldn't fly away, presumably with stakes, ropes, and death threats, he sped off to alert the army.

. . . . .

"So let me get this straight," Serra said with disbelief. "I went insane from nobody paying attention to me for a month and kidnapped Florina at knife point." Matthew nodded and poked Guy in the ribs. He had told Lord Hector that this was bound to happen at some point, so it didn't really phase him when it happened. "Then, I tackled her off the top of a dune, and Hawkeye caught us before we died from hitting the ground? That seems a bit unlikely." Matthew just shrugged and popped a bit of biscuit he had stolen from the wannabe swordmaster into his mouth.

In between bites he pointed out, "Hawkeye _does_have his own sprite. He's a man's man." To say Serra couldn't argue with that logic isn't strictly true; Serra could argue with any logic. But she wasn't feeling up to it at the moment, so she let it pass.

"So you're saying that now we're underground in the creepy temple of an Archsage that is older than Elimine's Church? And it's this fancy?" Matthew shrugged again as he inspected his newfound sword for nicks or scratches.

"You get a lot of interest over 500 years, and just think of how many chances the Archsage has had a chance to win Extreme Makeover: Godforsaken Desert edition. He really only had to compete with Eliwood's reliability and Vaida's love life. Pretty good chances I'd say."

"But what about the fireworks?"

"Oh that's easy," Matthew said. "That was just Pent roasting about 8,000 bandits. I don't know how they build up like that, considering the lifeless wasteland wouldn't have enough resources or travelers to support such a large gang, but Pent takes care of them anyway." Serra shrugged and sat back on her pillows to go to sleep. She was getting tired after her long dance with madness.

Matthew finished his inspection fairly quickly after that. Guy took much better care of his weapons than he kept track of them.

. . . . .

Florina awoke to concerned purple eyes, the smell of crisp parchment, and faint strains of "Soulja Boy." Through half-lidded eyes she looked up and saw Erk. That was good; Erk was nice. She liked Erk a lot. He was always such a polite caring, organized... _man._ Realization swept towards her like Turn 15 reinforcements sweep towards Merlinus whenever Mark tries to recruit Legault on Hector's Hard Mode. Erk was right here, holding onto her hand!

"Erk! Ho-how are you h-here? You c-can't see m-me like this! I'm all d-dirty and my h-hair's messed uh-up! _Wow, that was a tall dune..._ What if I sm-smell bad? Wh-what if you don't-"

Erk just smiled down at her, his headphones no longer putting out their muzak.. He smoothed back her hair and kissed her forehead. "Shhh. It's going to be okay. I'm just glad you're all right, Florina."

It was such an "aw" moment that Vaida nearly gagged. She quickly left the room to find puppies to intimidate. Florina's blush became so deep that Erk couldn't be entirely certain that she didn't have a fever. "If something happened to yo- Drat. She fainted again."

Some hours later, Archsage Athos addressed the assembled company. They stood in small groups around the unnecessarily large underground antechamber. The three Lords huddled with the other immortal members like Marcus and Merlinus, while the rest of mortals filled in the remaining space. Florina unsteadily leaned on Erk, firmly thinking about how he was really just a **pillar** and not a sexy, fire slinging, purple-haired beast. Hawkeye shadowed Athos in the center of the room, because only people with their own sprites were awesome enough to be at the center of attention. A few members were notably absent. Mark had assigned Nils the unenviable but necessary task of entertaining Serra, and Heath had left almost as soon as he had arrived, mumbling some excuse about fruit. Athos cleared his throat, adjusted his Gandalf beard, and spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your deity, Mark, has told me about the Day of Lemons, a horrid occurrence. If we cannot find who did this, the event could occur again, and it's entirely possible that some not nearly as magnificent as Mark here would be in charge when it happened, perhaps leading to the destruction of happyness as we know it. Will Smith would be very sad." Murmurs arose through the crowd. That man was legendary. "That being said, I think I know who really caused this."

"It was Nergal." Eliwood's clear voice rang out from the back. "He murdered my father and plans on bringing on the Dragons back." Athos stared the red haired lord down.

"Nergal used to be my friend, and he's nothing but a stoner with big ideas and no way to pay his rent. No, it is someone far worse."

"Ephidel, then." This time it was the human torch, Pent who offered up the suggestion. Athos snorted.

"And that's why you still have to make me dinner, my pupil. I expected better. I'll admit, Ephidel had the possibility of this level of evil, but he was roasted worse than Marcus would be if he fought a dragon. No, it is someone far, far worse."

The crowd was baffled. Who could be worse than the man who started the Lycian civil war? Who could be worse than an immortal man who could suck the very soul out of his victims? Athos eyed them all and revealed the name.

"His name is Glass. He said it himself, 'The gods fear my name!' Would the gods really fear the name of someone who didn't have the power to destroy the world?" Lyn stepped forward.

"But I killed him when I pulled the Mani Katti from its stone like a hot King Arthur," she said heatedly. "How could he start the Day of Lemons if he's dead?" Athos shook his head slowly.

"That's what we'll have to find out, noble Lady of Caelin. But, I suspect that he lies at the end of all of our problems."

Canas looked up sharply. So Glass was The Man. Finally, a purpose in life.

Vaidia looked up, even more sharply than Canas because the day that slow bookworm did something better than her, she'd swan dive into a mountain. So Glass was the reason no man would talk to her without wetting himself. Finally, a purpose in life.

All across the room, every member of the Rabble, Army, and Legion looked up in varying degrees of sharpness and fixed their thoughts and hatred upon Glass. They would destroy him and bring peace to the world. Finally, a purpose.

. . . .

"So, Athos, how do we find this man?" Hector's jaw was set like Sain upon a lady.

"I have the book that should help us in my library; I'll be right back," Athos called over his shoulder as he descended the cold marble steps to his private sanctum. He spoke a word of unlocking (probably something along the lines of "unlock") to the door to dispel the enchantment that held it shut against dust and air.

Nothing happened.

He spoke another, stronger word of unlocking. (probably something along the lines of "unlock, you stubborn bastard")

Nothing happened.

He started to speak another, stronger word of unlocking (something vulgar and probably involving veiled threats about transmuting doors into firewood) when he saw the soft flicker of torchlight through the barely imperceptible crack between the doors.

Someone was in his private sanctum. He summoned every bit of magical might he possessed and thrust the door open, a spell of blazing fire ready to be hurled at the intruder.

. . . . .

Archsage Athos let the killing spell die ironically on his lips.

"Sain, what have you done?" the old man asked in horror, a tremble marring his usually strong tone.

"Oh, stop worrying you old geezer, I just read this book," Sain replied flippantly. Archsage Athos beheld the dusty tome, his eyes scanning nervously over the dusty sigils embossed on its cover.

"You _fool_," he breathed. "This knowledge was not meant for mortal minds!" Sain just laughed and handed the aged book to the sage.

"What is the matter Lord Athos?" The door creaked open as the Mage General of Etruia entered the underground chamber. Athos gave him a haunted gaze and tossed him the book.

"Sain was reading? That is the problem? I'm as surprised as you are Lord Athos but-"

"Read the title, my student," the old man interrupted. Pent's eyes took in the swirling signs and he became paler than Erk when confronted by an afternoon with Serra.

"Sweet Elimine, preserve us." Pent whispered. Sain caught Pent's gaze with an arguably demonic glint in his eye.

"I don't see how she's going to do that without a freezer." Pent took one last look at his grinning face and ran screaming out the door. Athos, his own face reaching a shade of gray previously unknown to man, quickly followed in his pupil's footsteps.

Sain gave a chuckle and bent to retrieve the book.

"I don't know what their problem is. I thought it was pretty punny myself."

And with that, Sain strolled out of the dusty library, _The Ancient and Forbidden Art of the Pun_ tucked comfortably beneath his arm.

And the world trembled.

Had Sain noticed this, he would have mixed the trembling world with some ice cream and called it an earth-shake.

. . . . .

As the timeless prophet, Snoop Dogg, once said. That's a rap! I'm sure you've noticed that the random, disjointedness of the previous chapters has been replaced with something of a plot line. This is a good thing, folks! It means that Sain can put his newfound knowledge to the test! It means that the next chapter has a point! Are you prepared to moan? Are you prepared to groan? Are you prepared to roll around in agonizing pleasure? (Calm down, I'm talking about puns here, ladies) Then put this story on alert because updates times are both epileptic and sporadic!

Reviews, as always, are appreciated. If anything, tell me if you like it!

~Wii Master


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